


Cold

by just_about_nothing



Category: Original Work
Genre: Arizona - Freeform, Family, Gen, I wrote this because I was bitterly cold tbh, Iceland, Leaving Home, Second person POV, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-04
Updated: 2016-04-04
Packaged: 2018-05-31 03:01:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6452833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_about_nothing/pseuds/just_about_nothing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You are cold. You are always cold. This never changes. It doesn’t matter what you’re wearing, what you’re doing. You can never feel your limbs, your various extremities. You shiver when you stand still, you shake when you run.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this because i was freezing. there's no other reason. this version has been edited by another human.

You are cold. You are always cold. This never changes. It doesn’t matter what you’re wearing, what you’re doing. You can never feel your limbs, your various extremities. You shiver when you stand still, you shake when you run. Nothing can get rid of the cold, nothing helps. Your parents, when you were a teenager, took you to see every doctor they could think of to try and “fix” you. To be honest, you don’t mind the cold. It’s become a part of you and you no longer care about feeling things. You try and go to college in Arizona, where it is always warm and find that you don’t like it there the way you thought you would. You leave Arizona and the United States. You get a transfer to Iceland, learn the language and are happy. 

You’re in your early twenties. Your mother calls you and begs you to come home. You say no. She asks why and you say that you fit in this cold place. She hangs up without saying goodbye. You meet somebody and find they don’t care that your exterior is cold. They say that your interior is warm and that’s what matters. You find yourself falling in love with them. One day, you get a call that your mother has killed herself. You leave Iceland and go back to the United States. It is disorienting, being “home” again. Everything fits and nothing does.

At your mother’s funeral, your father doesn’t speak to you. You’re shaking, but not from the cold that permeates your body. You’re not sure why, but you’re not sad that your mother is dead. You know that you should be, but the emotions aren’t coming. People are staring at you, your mother’s daughter, not crying. Someone passes you the note and you skim it. Phrases jump out at you, phrases like “ _I’m sorry_ ” and “ _This was what needed to be done_ ” and “ _tell my daughter I love her, even now_ ”. You drop it and leave.

In your hotel room you cry and cry and think you might be just as cold inside as you are outside. Your phone starts buzzing, and dreamlike, you pick it up. It’s your father, apologizing over and over. You don’t respond and while he’s talking, you book a flight back to Iceland.

When you get back to Iceland, your somebody is waiting for you. When you hug, something warm blossoms inside your chest and you start crying again. They wipe away your tears and ask you what’s wrong. You shake your head and tell them you don’t know. Years pass. Your father dies, and this time, you don’t go back to the States.

You have a child and another one. They think it’s normal that you’re so cold and they love you for it. When your children are out of the house, you try to get used to them being gone. They had a certain energy about them and with them gone, you feel yourself wilting. This process takes years and finally, in your 80s, you curl your fingers around the arms of your favorite chair one last time, close your eyes and smile. 

This is how your eldest daughter finds you. She touches your face for the last time and feels warmth.


End file.
